


shades of green

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Boy Meets World
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Second person POV, Tags Are Hard, cory/shawn - Freeform, no topanga or angela, not GMW compliant, shawn hunter has feelings, shory, shory au sort of, some richard siken poetry scattered through out because god i love that mans words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5855110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you're trying to tell him you love him and he's trying to hear you but the static in the air is too loud so you swallow the words instead. </p><p>it spins like a wheel inside of you: green yellow, green blue<br/>green, beautiful green<br/>it's simple: it isn't over, its just began<br/>it's green, still green</p>
            </blockquote>





	shades of green

**Author's Note:**

> all quotes above sections are by Richard Siken (poet)

_It spins like a wheel inside of you: green yellow, green blue,_

_green, beautiful green._

_It's simple: it isn't over, its just began._

_It's green, still green._

[Siken]

**Red**

Shawn Hunter had never been a religious person but he'd attend church faithfully every Sunday, would fake a smile until his jaws ached, would bow his head and beg for forgiveness for all the words he'd whispered to the beautiful boy with brunette curls and eyes the color of the treasured chocolates he used to hide away when he was a child if it meant ensuring that boy's happiness.

He hadn't gracefully fallen in love but rather clumsily and accidentally crashed into it, leaving gnarled scars around his heart like roses with spines lined with needles and no matter how many bandages and gauze he'd layered them with, those feelings bled through - crimson drops on his best friend's pale chest. A bucket full of blood and a mop with no handle - there was no saving him. Not when redemption and punishment were tangled up in one person.

Shawn Hunter saw nothing but flashing red lights when it came to Cory Matthews and crime tape surrounding him with the same words repeating:

_He will break you and you'll never recover._

_You are oil and he is water, it won't work._

_He won't be able to keep up with all of the love that you'll take - you'll gut him and leave him bleeding on the kitchen floor as you run away._

_He's not yours._

_He's not yours._

_He is not yours to love._

But Cory loved him when he couldn't love himself, refused to walk away when Shawn loved too hard - when it came out as angry words and an intense need to give into the fear and run until Cory no longer followed, Cory _stayed._

Every night Shawn would battle the same monsters in his sleep - faceless bodies telling him to turn back while he still stood a chance, an elevator shaft that he shoved Cory down, red lights on every street corner they stood upon - every road leading to dead end's.

And each time that Cory would wake out of a dead sleep and rush over to his side he told himself it was the last time.

They were roommates, best pals - nothing more.

* * *

 

**Yellow**

**(Caution) Be careful with my heart - it belongs to you**

Yellow - like the bright sunshiny hue of their apartment walls, yellow like Cory's favorite plaid shirt, yellow like dandelions in a vase on the kitchen table with a " _I_ _saw these and thought you might like them; could spruce up the kitchen table."_

Yellow had waited until Shawn was wide awake and dreaming - tracing the outline of Cory's shoulder blades and spine with his eyes; had sprouted up like sunflowers when Cory woke from a dream and drowsily sat up with a _"I love you so much Shawny. 'mm so glad you're here."_

He hadn't meant for it to happen but the light switched from fire engine red to a vibrant yellow hue.

A familiar caution light throwing off warnings:

_Don't get too close._

_Yellow red, yellow green, yellow red - you'll never truly reach green._

_Hope, happiness, a shattered mirror of your skewed perception - he doesn't love you enough to make the light change._

It began as all big things do - a tiny seed in a garden full of weeds.

It was in the small things -

"You got some sauce on your face, here let me get it" (his thumbs, your cheekbone; remember to breathe)

"Why yellow roses?" (does he know?) "Because they reminded me of home; the color of our walls." (we are yellow, you see it too)

"When was the last time you went out on a date?" "Hmm...eleven months ago now pick a movie. What're we gonna watch?" (greasy popcorn in the dark)

"I've never saw Niagra Falls, bet I could get some great shots there." "What are we waiting for? Let's do it, you and me. We'll even stop and buy tacky souvenirs."

"Thought I'd drop in to visit my mom, pack your bags we'll be staying overnight there." "You're assuming I'm going." "You _are_ going, because I want you to."

Love was not a volcano erupting in the dead of night, no.

Love was the shadowed figure who cut holes in your sleeping bag and torched your tent, who left you wandering in the wilderness until you stumbled into something ~~someone~~ you couldn't afford to lose.

Love was your t-shirt on his body and a faint buzzing (like alcohol) in the deepest recesses of your heart.

* * *

 

"I made us reservations," you tell him and you try to ignore the guilt eating at you (the tale tale heart rattling the chains on its cage made of bone) as his whole face lights up like the morning sun (lovesick puppy - that's what you are because you melt for those eyes and assign them metaphors and similes).

"Perfect timing, Shawny! I was thinking Ramen for dinner but I could probably be swayed into putting on a tie and eating something that doesn't need a packet."

You shuffle your feet on frayed and thin carpet; bare feet against cold floors - "There's a catch."

He throws his arms up in the air dramatically - "Why is there always a catch?"

_Because you're a gamble that I can't afford to lose._

"Don't be like that Cor, you'll like this girl and I already told her about you so we can't cancel. It's rude."

Cory's eyes narrow, he steps closer - "What'd you tell her about me? That I hog the hot water or eat the last Twinkie? Or even better - that I spend most of my time with you?"

You didn't, not in so many words.

"I wouldn't do that. You still owe me that Twinkie by the way."

She'd asked and you'd told her about your childhood together, about how talented Cory is at painting your shared apartment (shades of yellow), about how he talks in his sleep and how on more than one occasion you'd killed a whole hour by asking a sleeping Cory questions ("what's the capital of Vermont?" "how do you feel about guys marrying guys?" "what's with the pudding cups? are you preparing for the apocalypse?"). 

"I'll pick up a box tomorrow and you can eat 'um all 'till you get a bellyache, happy?"

Cory perked up - "And a box of Zingers too?"

"If I absolutely have to. They're vile."

"Yes you do _have_ to or I'm not going."

Groan - feign irritation and try not to think about how easy it is for you to say _yes we'll do this together._

"Deal. Dates at 7:30 tonight - her name is Dee."

You'd hand picked the nicest girl you could find - after a lifetime of nothing but trouble (in the form of you) Cory deserved someone he could settle down with. They'd get married, have children and you'd gradually distance yourself in preparation for the day he'd walk out the door for good and deadbolt it.

Another groan (fainter this time) made its way out of Cory's mouth as he surrendered.

"I'll go but I'm tellin' you Shawn, I'm gone if she tries to get handsy."

Issues - you have a renewed subscription to his whether you like it or not but you wouldn't change him.

"We can't show up two hrs early...wanna play a game?," Cory asked (sporting his best pouting face that made him resemble a Napoleon wrasse fish instead).

"Thought you'd never ask," you reply as you remove the box of playing cards from your pocket.

* * *

  _I sleep.  I dream.  I make up things that I would never say._

_I say them very quietly._

The date was a disaster. Cory's food order wasn't correct, you ended up with a gorgeous date (high heels, long legs, lips painted in red #3 ("vixen"), blonde hair from a bottle of dye) who took joy in berating the nervous waitress and Cory who was trying to hold onto his end of the bargain when he'd rather be at home camped out in front of the tv.

There were good parts amongst the wreckage; like Cory's fingertips lightly touching your own from across the table or his leg stretched alongside yours from under the narrow table.

It was said and done now; beyond salvageable so you'd more than happily went back to the apartment with him (after forced smiles and a lie - _I had a nice time_ ).

He yawns and stretches like a lazy house cat and you're staring before you can peel your eyes away from the narrow patch of skin that's exposed when he lifts his arms; he pretends not to notice and you quit holding your breath (you hadn't even realized you'd been doing that).

" 'mm beat. 'mm gonna hit the sack," he says with eyes drooping as he sags against the couch.

"It's only 10 o'clock," you remind him.

"My body says it's midnight," Cory replies.

"Go ahead and get some sleep then. I'll..." you began.

 _Clean up_ , you meant (the apartment is a mess but then again so are you).

_Love you._

_Claim you._

He stands with sleep laden muscles and hugs you goodnight, holds on a full three minutes longer (not that you're counting. one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three) than he normally would but hes been doing that frequently as of late. You inhale - face nuzzled into his neck - and hope that he doesn't take notice. He's an expert at not picking up on hints and body language and it gets frustrating at times. You're trying to tell him you love him and he's trying to hear you but the static in the air is too loud so you swallow the words instead and he doesn't understand.

When it comes to him you take what you can get (and resist the urge to pin him against the front door; to wake him up with your mouth, your hands - maybe both at the same time) and remind yourself over and over again that yellow is a _happy_ color. But it's not, it's really not. Yellow feels like pining over what you'll never have.

Cory is soundly sleeping when the door creaks open and you find that his bed is empty - the covers are the same as they were this morning (neatly stretched over the mattress). He's in _your_ bed, face crammed against your pillow, blanket precariously clinging onto the bed with a tiny section and a pile of his clothes next to it.

Your steps are careful and slow - a jungle animal observing the main course before pouncing.

You'll steal a little kiss then curl up in his bed where you're less tempted to do something stupid.

"Night Cor," you murmur - a whisper of lips upon his forehead and the tip of his nose.

"Don't eat that banana Shawn," he slurs - words blending into one another as he dozes.

You take this as a chance to lean in next to his ear - "Not gonna."

You're almost home free when you feel a hand circle your wrist, drawing you back into his orbit.

"Shawny!," Cory exclaims and you feel sick - if he'd been awake the entire time...

"Shhh come'ere," he urges as he tugs on your arm and gives you no choice but to sit on the edge of the bed, on the edge of everything that has ever existed or ever will.

Pale yellow blends into golden color, van Gogh's moon on rippled water, velvety yellow roses - roses - no thorns; he has taken all of the thorns with a lazy brush of parted lips against your own and this has to be death - you never imagined you'd kick the bucket this soon but what a sweet death it is.

You get a hand in his hair - messing up the curls like your fingers had been itching to do for years - dull fingernails on his back through his sweater as you roughly carve out a path there. You want to turn his body into a map with purple bruises (your lips, his skin) in place of X's to mark the spot.

He pulls back; eyes wide and shiny red lips (from kissing, _your_ kisses) gaping as he realizes that this _isn't_ a dream.

"Shawn?"

"I have to...um...I have to go," you stammer - you're taking the cowards way out but it doesn't matter because you'll lose him to the color red and you'll remain suspended in a stand still for the remainder of your time together (and that was if Cory didn't decide to throw everything you own into a duffle bag and toss it outside of the apartment door).

You steal away to a hole-in-the-wall diner with a flashing _Open 24hrs_ sign in the window and wish that for once in your life you could manage to not screw up everything that you touch.

He's at work when you slink back to the apartment and there's a hollow ache in your chest that wasn't there before.

* * *

  _Here is the hallway and here are the doors and here is the fear of the other thing,  
_

_the relentless thing_

You've managed to squeeze in a date every weekend for two weeks after the incident in a valiant attempt to distance yourself - you're doing him a favor but he doesn't see it that way and he yells this at you on a Thursday afternoon with snow piling up on the windowsill -

"I don't need any of your lousy flea bitten favors, Shawn Hunter," he growls as he stomps out of the apartment and doesn't return until nightfall.

(you don't sleep well that night or the night after)

* * *

  **It's green, it's always green  
**

**(green, beautiful green)**

You're poring over a thick chapter book when he throws his arms up and says hes had enough.

"Are you breaking up with me? Is that what this is about?," he says - slight tremble in his voice that gives him away, hands gripping the chair arm tight; essentially locking you into place; a cage that binds you, keeps you, loves you.

A cage of yellow red, red yellow on his face, his ears, the muscle that twitches in his jaw when he clenches it (like he's doing at the moment).

 _No,_ you want to say, _you can't break apart something that was never whole to begin with._

This is you - the key to the cage clinging to the roof of your mouth (you could take it, you're afraid of what might happen if you do), gunpowder in Cory's loaded gun and he's aiming straight for your heart, the bloody crime scene with chalk outline, the mural of yellows and reds melting into one another with Cory at the center.

This is you trying not to notice the tiny flicker of green or the pain in his eyes when you stand and he pins you to the floor (if you were to reach up and graze your fingers against his cheek he might let you love him but you are a coward and you've made peace with longing for green in a sea of monotony).

"I need some space is all," you lie.

Space is not what you desire - you hunger for proximity; to put one foot on his side of the line - you're almost positive that it'd be nothing but a canvas with shades of green as far as the eye can see and that in itself is terrifying.

His jaw flexes - "Tell me, Shawn."

"No," you state - voice stern and clear.

"Tell me."

"I can't."

"We're best friends, I know everything there is to know about you and I haven't saw anything that I don't like so can you please tell me?"

"I'll tell you if you'll get off of me," you squirm against him (because your body is enjoying this far too much).

He huffs and relents.

You rummage about and locate a notebook you'd hidden in between two books (that Cory would never read) and flip through the pages before shoving it at his chest and retreating to the bathroom.

He's reading a poem you'd penned about him two months ago & this could either work in your favor or against you.

More than anything you want him to stay.

_**Shades of Green** _

_**by Shawn P. Hunter** _

_here is the part where I tell you that I never cared for the color green until I woke up one day to find everything covered in traffic light green  
_

_your sheets, my bed, our walls, your hands painting a mural on the ugliest parts of me_

_but I got scared and shattered it until all that was left was red and yellow, blinking into the night_

_because I'm a coward  
_

_because I'll crawl under your skin and eat you alive_

_because I loved you for every time that I pushed and you pulled_

_because I'm destined to dine in halls of black and white_

_splashes of onion skin yellow and warm reds devoid of emerald & lime _

_because I don't want that life for you_

_because you deserve fields of green cymbidium orchids and I can't give you that_

_here  
_

_here is where I leave you_

_here is where I give you a bouquet of flowers in a color that I can only dream of_

_here is where I walk away_

_(and you don't follow)_

 

There's a knock at the bathroom door and you hesitate - "I'm...um...I'm in the shower."

"Nice try but the water isn't even running."

"That's because I just got out of the shower. I'm naked right now and unless you wanna see that then I suggest you cut your losses and leave me alone."

You're not referring to the shower, you both know this and its been a long time coming.

Cory clears his throat on the other side of the door - "That poem....was it about me?"

Deep breath in and out - "Yes."

Silence.

Perhaps Cory hadn't picked up on the metaphors and took the poem at face value, would leave and come back with everything he could find in the color green (a literal translation of the poem).

"I like green," Cory states quietly, almost to himself.

"Me and you? We've always been green so how 'bout you come out of there," he continues.

You unlock the door but don't move toward it, legs and arms frozen in place.

He lets himself in and gives you a crooked grin - the one that has forever said _I'll fix us._ And he had, many times, when Shawn felt like throwing in the towel because loving was hard and it hurt in ways that he couldn't bare.

"Don't go," you say - voice hushed and low.

" 'member how we said we'd be together forever? I meant that. I mean I know we were only kids but I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it," he murmurs and you physically _ache_ because it feels like there are oceans between where you are and where he should be - a gaping space in between the two of you.

Because you're feeling brave and this might truly be your first and last chance, you step into his space even as your throat is dry and you're not sure you'll survive this without some sort of cardiac damage.

"Are you gonna kiss me?," he asks - mouth tilting up on one side in a smile.

"I might. First you gotta answer a question."

He stares back quizzically and your palms grow damp. You, Shawn Hunter, lady killer extraordinaire who can take a woman out for a nice dinner and sweep her off her feet without an ounce of nervousness - are a bundle of nerves at the prospect of kissing Cory Matthews.

"What's your favorite color?," you ask - teasing tone and goofy grin that you can't hold back.

He surges forward and grabs your hipbones until you're wedged between him and the cool exterior of the bathroom wall.

"Green," he whispers and hooks a finger under your chin to draw you in.

He sighs into the kiss happily and surrenders to it - hands now buried in your hair (& _oh_ , _oh_ \- that feels incredible), nose brushing against your cheek and lips slick against your own; a desperately passionate bruising kiss that melts into slow and sensual.

You want to ruin him, to leave your mark on his skin & press him up against a canvas and smear the color green on every inch that you can reach.

It's green, it's always green (and you're not afraid).


End file.
